Addiction
by Miyakai Valentine
Summary: Alfred has an addiction, and Francis is only feeding it. America/France one-shot. Drugs, Oral.


**Extended Summary: **Alfred has an addiction, and Francis is only feeding it.**  
Author's Note: **This had something to do with some conversation I had with my brother. Um. I can't even begin to explain it so I'll just let it speak for itself.  
**Warnings: **Drug usage, oral sex, yaoi. There's some hardcore shit here, guys.  
**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia or the countries of America or France. I'm kind of sorry I did this, but not sorry enough.

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Alfred recognized the sound of the grandfather clock in his foyer chiming, telling him the time as if he really cared.

_chime_

_chime_

His body shuddered, and the little jerk his head gave just above his shoulders reminded him that somewhere far above him, someone was gripping his hair. He opened his eyes, but everything was blurry. He couldn't tell if it was a side-effect, or because he had lost his glasses much earlier, but he felt that it was probably a combination of both. He also felt that it probably didn't matter; it was dark in his house anyway, making it hard to see and blurring the edges of everything with shadows and moonlight.

He laughed a little to himself at that, condescending. Who would have guessed that he was such a poet?

A little bit more feeling came back into him, and his right hand twitched against his face, one finger pressing his nostril closed a bit harder than it needed to be, crooking his nose at an odd angle that made the straw in the other nostril press it's sharp edge into soft skin.

The hand in his hair guided his head backwards slowly, and he dropped the straw to rub at his nose, smearing something wet across the back of his hand. He looked at it and was momentarily transfixed by the red smear, before the fingers in his hair twisted slightly and he found himself looking up at the person holding him, gaze unfocused and only getting worse. The man said something, but Alfred didn't hear it, because the moment the fingers released his hair, he was back for more, licking at the white powder residue on the front of the other man's pants. The fingers were back almost immediately, twisting and pulling and pressing, but Alfred just kept licking, either not feeling or not caring about the slow drip that was starting from his nostril again, stopping just above his lips before cascading over the edge, and soon he was tasting his own blood while he licked the crotch of the man's pants, trying to get every finely cut granule of the stuff.

The fingers finally tugged back again, and he pulled away with a jerk that sent his vision spinning into focus, a sharp but hazy focus that defined every color acutely, all the lines seeming to have some sort of glow to them, and he giggled.

The hand moved from his hair, from his line of sight, but was back in a moment with a tissue, wiping carefully at his nose and the trail of red leading from it. He tried to focus his gaze on the man's face, but the hand was much closer and much easier to concentrate on, so he did. The tissue fell when he grabbed the hand, tongue coming out to caress the fingertips, still powdery and white from cutting the lines he had done, and Alfred made sure to suck all of the drug from the digits. His tongue swirled over soft pads of flesh and jagged points of fingernails, teeth nibbling at the skin gently, trying to be thorough enough to get all of it, to not let any go to waste.

There was an aroused groan above him, and the man said something again, but Alfred still didn't hear it, too busy with the fingers in his mouth, failing to notice when he had stopped sucking on the tips and started to fully suck the digits into his mouth, tongue swirling and applying pressure in a mimic of an act he had grown used to.

His ears perked at the sound of a zipper, and he swore he could hear every tooth of the metal as it slowly came open. The fingers removed themselves from his mouth and were back in his hair in an instant, stroking the strands with the sticky wet of his saliva, tugging him closer. Something bumped against his lips, and Alfred opened his mouth to it, letting the appendage in with a wonton groan, lips closing around the shaft as he sucked the head. He bobbed, taking more of it in, tongue swirling and sucking the whole while, and he heard the distant, fuzzy groaning above him, mumbled words in a language he had never been able to grasp well. It was a language he had always enjoyed hearing, but the words were always too hard for him to pick up on, despite people in the south of his home having spoken a dialect of it for centuries.

There was a shift in pitch of the groans and words coming from above him, and so he shifted his pace, sucking harder and with more purpose, waiting for the spasm that would come at the same time the man did. It wasn't long before it happened, and Alfred swallowed as much of the white fluid as he could, just as he had tried his hardest to get all of the same colored powder earlier. He didn't notice the bit that dribbled down his chin as he released the appendage from his mouth, gasping for air, but the man did, and leaned down with a chuckle to lick the line of fluid from his face. The half-lidded expression came in and out of focus, while his eyes struggled to keep still on just one thing. They finally settled on the set of blue eyes that were staring back at him, and Alfred slumped a bit, suddenly exhausted. The eyes chuckled before lifting a hand to brush the American's bangs back gently, fingers stroking down the side of his face, and the cool dampness of them told him that they were the same fingers he had sucked on before.

The man said something, but Alfred didn't register it, just reached up and struggled to take hold of the long blond locks, the stubble-covered chin, the sharp cheek-boned face, but his hand was shaking too badly. The Frenchman sighed and took Alfred's hand in his own, gently guiding it to his cheek and holding it there gently while Alfred giggled softly, gaze becoming unfocused again as his eyes slid closed and he rested his head on the other man's lap, finding that it was rather comfortable because his head felt so heavy.

The Frenchman stroked his hair gently, purring soft words that Alfred didn't understand, soothing him until sleep overtook him, leaving him drifting in a sea of quiet, calm blackness.


End file.
